Harbinger Of Glory

Jake was lying on the grass with his arms out and his palms facing the sky, staring at his hands with the expression of a man who had just discovered something deeply troubling about the universe.

The Amex was settling around him.

In the stands, the Brighton supporters were already moving toward the exits, while on the other side of things, the Wigan fans were still going in the corner behind the goal, and none of it seemed to be reaching Jake where he was.

Leo walked over and looked down at him, and before he even got there, Jake already knew what was coming at him.

”Hey, there,” Leo said, but Jake didn’t even bother to look at him, at least until Leo said his next words.

”Did you even touch the ball!”

”Yes, I did,” Jake was forced to reply.

”Twice,” he said. ”I touched the ball twice.”

”How does that even work?” Leo said after that.

While the two were talking, Ezra came onto the pitch, also laughing, already knowing, and looked down at Jake on the grass.

”Thirteen minutes,” Ezra said.

”And you only got like two touches.”

”How?” this time, Jake muttered as he looked at his hands, and that did it for Leo, who began chuckling again, same with Ezra, but that wasn’t all that influenced the laugh.

On the broadcast, the commentary was settling into its post-match summary.

The camera swept across the ground as the Wigan fans in the away end found another gear for their singing, overjoyed by the results they were currently facing, and they had every right to be.

It wasn’t every day that a newly promoted side got a win on their first matchday, and especially not against a team that has recently been on the rise.

”Wigan Athletic one, Brighton nil,” the commentator said.

”And what a way to begin.

A newly promoted side coming to the Amex and leaving with three points on the opening day of the Premier League season.

The goal came from Leo Calderon, his first in the top flight, and it was the difference between the two sides.”

”It was the brightest of starts,” the co-commentator agreed.

”Three points in the bag and everything still ahead of them. This is what they came back to the Premier League for.”

The Wigan supporters were still singing by the time the final handshakes started.

The song had changed two or three times since the whistle, but the intensity they were still singing it with was the same.

If anything, it seemed to be getting louder as more people realised they weren’t dreaming and Wigan had actually opened their Premier League season with three points.

Dawson was on the touchline when De Zerbi reached him.

The Brighton manager held out a hand.

”Your players defended well,” he said.

”I was outclassed defensively today.”

At that, Dawson laughed before taking the former’s hand in his.

”You had enough chances to win comfortably.”

”Maybe.”

De Zerbi shrugged.

”But we didn’t.”

There wasn’t much else to say after that as the two managers shook hands and went their separate ways.

When Dawson looked back toward the pitch, Whatmough was already waving his mates over.

But it wasn’t only them, as the staff members who had wandered onto the grass after the whistle also joined in.

Within a minute, the whole group was together and heading toward the away end.

The closer they got, the louder it became.

Scarves were spinning overhead, and even a few supporters were hanging over the barriers.

The players stopped in front of them and started applauding, while the crowd reciprocated the action.

After a while, neither side seemed particularly interested in being the first to stop.

It might have felt repetitive to some, but you really had to experience it to understand what it really meant.

Just a season ago, or if we take it even a step further, their season was looking bleak half a season ago.

But now, it was an all-time high they’d been in a decade.

Standing there in front of the away end, it didn’t feel simple at all.

Eventually the applause subsided as Whatmough turned and started walking towards the tunnel, same as the others.

The supporters gave them one last roar as they disappeared inside, and the singing carried on long after they were gone.

....

Away from the south of London, Vittoria and Gianna sat in front of the television in silence for a few seconds after the whistle.

After Leo had put the ball into the back of the net, it’d been so rowdy for Gianna, who had borne the full brunt of her friend’s celebration despite celebrating herself.

She’d promised herself she was going to be calm about it, but that lasted all of three seconds.

The forty minutes that followed had been considerably less enjoyable.

Every Brighton attack felt dangerous.

Every cross felt dangerous.

Every shot felt dangerous.

And somehow the score had stayed the same.

The last moments of the game had kept the two on edge, so much so that they had blanked out.

A second later, Vittoria leaned back against the sofa and let out a breath.

”Thank God,” she muttered.

Beside her, Gianna laughed.

”That bad?”

”You weren’t watching properly, where you?”

”I was.”

”No, you weren’t.”

Gianna looked at her.

”Fine, I was really staring at Carlo for the whole session.”

Vittoria opened her mouth to say something but then closed it after realising how futile whatever she wanted to say would be with Gianna.

After that, she looked back at the television where the Wigan players were making their way toward the away supporters.

They sat with the quiet for a moment before Vittoria turned to look at Gianna again.

”When do you leave for the UK?”

Gianna pulled her knees up onto the couch while setting her head on them.

”A week. Carlo and I have been talking about trying to live together for a while. See how it goes.”

”If it works, we’re both thinking about making it more permanent. I’ve been looking at journalism work in London anyway, so the timing is right. Plus I got the recommendation from school to do so!”